


The Dragon Lord

by JustGettingBy



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Animal Transformation, Blue Spirit Zuko (Avatar), Curses, Dragon Zuko (Avatar), Dragons, Fairy Tale Elements, Folk Tale, Gen, Kinda, Original Character(s), Shapeshifters - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-27
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:33:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24413653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustGettingBy/pseuds/JustGettingBy
Summary: When Zuko was young, his Uncle warned him about the tricks spirits play. He should’ve listened.
Relationships: The Gaang & Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 50
Kudos: 701
Collections: Finished111





	1. Chapter 1

When Zuko is young, his uncle tells him stories of the world beyond their own. The world where the living do not go. In the world of the spirits, the strangeness reigns. Tilted colours paint the landscape. Time twists until it has no meaning. 

As Zuko grows, he loses interest in his uncle’s ramblings. The old man’s lost touch with reality, he thinks. 

“The spirits have a way of cursing us through gifts and gifting us through curses,” Uncle says one day. He sips his oolong and closes his eyes. 

Zuko would’ve done well to listen. 

* * *

Zuko is eleven when, for the first time, he realizes why the other men call his uncle The Dragon of the West. 

Sometimes, he wonders where that slain skin lay. The last dragon. The last scales and teeth and claws to ever grace the earth. 

The one time he tries to bring it up, his uncle shuts him down. 

“Some things,” he says, “are best left unsaid.”

Zuko should’ve ignored that one. 

* * *

When Zuko is sixteen, he relearns firebending from the dragons. The last of their kind, circling around each other in a dance as old as time itself. They remind him of the koi fish in the North, moving in tandem, balancing the world. 

The balance flows through him, from the spot where his spine meets his skull, down his back and then out through his limbs and stomach. This way, it’s different. Natural. His inner fire isn’t stoked by rage. His movements ebb and flow with the rhythm of his heart. Heat, Zuko supposes, is as essential to life as water and air. So he moves as such. 

His fire isn’t meant to raze cities. His fire is as natural as the breath in his lungs. 

And yet the roughened skin on his face aches even more than before. 

* * *

A year after the war ended, Zuko realizes there’s more to the gift the dragons gave him than he could’ve ever imagined. 

It starts with him in the empty arena, running through his movements. They’d become so familiar to him that his muscles flex and release without protest. There’s a simple comfort in the movement; he doesn’t need to strain his mind as he works through a mountain of paperwork, he needs only to punch his fists high in the air and sweep his feet out and turn on his heels. 

It feels like coming home. 

So much so that Zuko doesn’t notice himself changing until he is well into it. His bones grind and shift. The muscles in legs ache and burn in protest, as if he’d run a hundred miles, before they spasm. In the pit of his gut, something twists. For a minute, Zuko’s sure he’s dying. This has to be poison—has to be his spirit leaving his body. 

When he tries to yell, all that comes out is a deep roar. It echoes through the empty chamber. 

His arms contract to his sides and, deep in the muscle of his shoulder blades, the sinew pulls apart from itself and keeps pulling until it pushes through his skin. Zuko’s head aches as if it were splitting apart. From inside his mouth, his jaw stretches forward. Every inch of him feels as though it’s bathed in flame. He recoils at the familiar and horrid sensation. 

But as quickly as it started, the heat snaps away. The draft of the room pricks at Zuko’s neck. His muscles still ache with the familiar fatigue of overtraining, but it isn’t painful, not anymore. 

But it isn’t _right_ either. 

When Zuko twists his head back, he sees what he became; when he looks at himself, he sees the smooth and scaled body of a dragon. The scales are deep blue—the colour of the ocean in a storm. From his back, a pair of leathery wings protrude. 

Zuko yelps. Agni above, he’s seen some strange things, but this is certainly the strangest. 

Panic clouds his mind. He shakes himself, desperate to peel away the transformation like a pair of old robes. 

It doesn’t work. 

He yells again, in equal parts frustration and fear. Instead of a scream, a steady flow of fire pours out of his mouth. It starts from the warmth in his stomach and runs up his throat. The fire, surprisingly, is what bothers Zuko the least about everything. Fire, for him, was familiar. Natural. A gift. Life. 

He closes his eyes and concentrates on calming himself. The fire is familiar—he grounds himself in that. 

As he concentrates on his breathing, he feels the scales melt away. His skin prickles and, for a moment, his chest tightens. It feels as though he jumped in lava. Zuko grits his teeth and rides out the pain. 

After the wave of heat rocks his body, he’s back to himself and on all fours in the centre of the arena. 

He stands numbly and dusts off his pants. 

It’s a blessing, he supposes, that he could change back. It’d be hard to rule the nation if he couldn’t speak. 

* * *

Over the next weeks, Zuko practices shifting into his dragon form. After the first time, the pain had lessens to a dull ache (even if his muscles do feel like mush afterward). 

He practices in the empty arena when he knows no one would be watching. Once he has a good handle on his transformation, he practices shifting in his bed chambers. As a dragon, he’s nowhere near as large as the dragons that were guarded by the Sun Warriors, but he still has to watch the way he moves. One night, feeling bold and drunk with the flush of energy the transformation brought, he knocks over a vase in his chambers with his tail. Luckily, he shifts back before the guards came bursting in. 

Zuko won’t let anyone see him. Even if his pride surges behind his breastbone when he shifts, he can’t share the pride with others. Half the Fire Nation and most of the rest of the world still think him a monster. 

The last thing he needs is to add fuel to the fire. 

* * *

He almost writes Uncle, one day. He has the letter in his hand. If anyone would understand, it would be him.

Zuko bites his lip. He crumples the parchment in his hand and burns it to cinders. 

Iroh had given enough of his life to Zuko. The least he can do is grant him leave to run his tea shop in peace. 

* * *

Zuko doesn’t realize it at first—he was too shocked to even notice it the first few times he transformed. 

As a dragon, his vision is perfect. In both eyes. Nothing is blurred; everything is brilliant. 

* * *

His other senses sharpen too. He can hear the rest of the palace buzzing about, even through the thick walls of his chambers. In the air, he can smell the lingering dew and the Uma blossoms from the gardens and the sea salt in the breeze. The taste of dust lingers on his tongue when he practices in the arena. 

The only sense that hasn’t changed (as far as he can tell) is his sense of touch. His roughened scales dull sensation. When he runs his hand—or, more aptly, his claw—over his silk bedsheets, Zuko can tell no difference from the rough bedding he’d camped on in the Earth Kingdom.

Nature has her give and take, he supposes.

* * *

He hears from Aang and the gang from time to time. They swap letters back and forth. They’re all too busy for how young they stillare. _Agni_ , Zuko shakes his head to himself. Once, he believed that his life would calm down when the war ended. 

He can’t believe he’d once been so naive. 

In the latest letter, Aang says he and the others are leaving for Kyoshi Island. They want to help with rebuilding the village—a project that will take several months. And, he’d added, Suki was growing homesick. 

Zuko grimaces as he reads that part. He understands the deep ache of being separated from home too well. 

In his reply, he wishes them luck. Maybe, after Kyoshi, they’d come to the capital. 

He hopes. 

* * *

As Fire Lord, there are things Zuko can’t do. 

It seems counterintuitive to Zuko—wasn’t the Fire Lord the only one in the nation who could do whatever he wanted? 

But he quickly realized that assumption had been childish. As a prince—as a _banished_ prince—no one paid any mind to what he did. 

As Fire Lord, the whole nation has him under their gaze. His brief dream of freedom was promptly extinguished after his coronation. He follows all the protocols and etiquette, he plays the courtly games and deflects the subterfuge with careful words. When he designs policy, he designs it with care. 

Every minute of it is beyond exhausting. 

* * *

It starts with a gang of thieves in the capital.

Zuko practices his transformation that night—he works on moving as swiftly in his dragon form as he can as his human self—when he hears the scream and the sound of shattering ceramics. 

He’s out his window and into the night sky before he consciously realizes what he’s doing. His wings ache, unused to use, but it’s not an unpleasant feeling. Instead, it’s freeing. Like stretching one’s legs after a long journey. 

With ease, he finds the thieves as they rummage through a shop of imports. “What was that,” the tallest of the three men whispers to the others. 

Zuko yanks them out by the scruff of their robes and drops them in front of a nightwatchman. 

As he peels back into the inky sky, he smiles to himself. For the first time in a long while, no one watches him. 

* * *

It doesn’t take long for the stories to spread: the blue dragon protects the city. Anyone with ill intent should ready themselves to face the beast and its sharp teeth. 

Zuko struggles to keep a straight face when he hears those stories—the worst marks he’d left behind were some light bruises. Still, stories have a way of taking on a life of their own. And, if the stories keep his city safe, he isn’t about to stamp them out. 

* * *

One night, on the full moon, he ventures out farther from the palace than he’d ever dared. 

He sails over the choppy ocean waves. Whitecaps rise and fall as they crash on the horizon. Salty sea breeze runs over his scales and the spray flecks his face.

Like this, he’s free. 

In the din of the moonlight, he could see his reflection in the rough wake. For the first time since his transformation, he sees his face: white lines the blue; his sharp teeth stick down from the top of his jaw; his nostrils flare; his tongue forks out like that of a lizard. 

Zuko is the spitting image of the blue spirit. 

His face is unmarked. 

* * *

After that night, Zuko gets braver. He leaves the capital for the surrounding villages. Along the way, he stops muggers and thieves. He keeps his eye on young women walking alone—he makes sure they reach their homes safely. When the sun sinks behind the sea, he’ll swoop over the docks and shut down the smugglers. 

Sometimes, as he sits through the seemingly endless meetings, Zuko feels the tiredness prick at him from behind his eyes. 

He doesn’t mind. 

* * *

In another meeting on another day, he listens to Governor Ito drone on. 

“We’re directing too much funding to the refugees, my Lord. They need to learn to be self-sufficient.”

Zuko swallows his anger and narrows his eyes. “We will help those who need us,” he says, his tone level and boiling. 

Governor Ito blinks for too long. “Of course, my Lord.”

As he leaves the council room that afternoon, Zuko slips down the hallway after him. 

“He’s too soft,” the Governor says to his assistant. “He spent too much time with the Water Tribe peasants and those other _children._ His priorities aren’t right.”

The assistant nods dutifully. “You’re right, sir.”

“I’ll allocate those funds how I see fit.”

Zuko presses himself against a wall and bites his tongue and bides his time. 

That night, he visits Ito in his chamber. He holds the sharp points of his claws to the man’s throat. 

In his ridiculous nightclothes, the man trembles. “Agni please, spare me.” His bottom lip curls in and his eyes widen. 

Zuko pulls the man closer and then shoves him into his bed. In his place, he leaves the hastily scribbled note he’d brought with him: _the money goes to the people._

Governor Ito never complains again. 

* * *

For months, Zuko goes on like this.

* * *

Zuko flies through a village not far from the capital with his eyes wide and his ears twitching. The stories of the blue dragon worked: most criminals are too afraid to try anything now. For many nights in a row, he had nothing to stop. Even the nobles watch themselves—Governor Ito’s change of heart seemed to have been contagious. 

But tonight, Zuko hears rumblings. Something is wrong here. There’s an unnaturalness in the air that would’ve made the hair on his neck stand—if he hadn’t been shifted. 

He lands on a patch of soft ground and listens. In the distance, from the depths of the forest, something rustles leaves and snaps branches and whispers in the wind. 

Zuko takes off. He slips through the forest with grace and darts toward the noise. When he reaches the source of the noise, he stops and cocks his head. He had expected many things. He hadn’t expected this. 

In a clearing, amongst the grasses and reeds, stands a fox, preening its fur. 

Zuko shakes his head at himself. Paranoia, he supposes. He’d been certain there was something that drew him here. 

After he scans the woods a final time, he flies away. It’s late, after all. 

In the morning, he sleeps through a meeting.   
  


* * *

From that night onward, Zuko sees foxes everywhere. He sees them in town. He watches them slip behind stalls at the docks. Once, he even sees one edge around the royal garden. 

He tries to ignore them, mostly. 

They aren’t doing him any harm. 

* * *

He’s on the outskirts of town one night when he hears a crash and a grunt of effort and a low curse. 

With a beat of his wings, he swoops toward the commotion. 

Behind a thatched-roof house, a man clad in dark clothes yanks on a rope that ties up an ostrichhorse. “Come on,” he says as he tries to calm the angry huffs from the animal. 

Zuko lets out a low, throaty sound as a warning. He’s not letting the man steal the ostrichhorse—no, whoever lives there doesn’t deserve that. Besides, Zuko feels guilty enough about that time with Song. He lunges forward and pulls the man away from the ostrichhorse before shoving him back into the mud. 

The man yells and raises his hands to protect his face. “Agni spare me,” he whispers. 

Zuko would, of course. But he grits his teeth to send a message. After all, the man needs to learn—

A scream breaks the night. It came from inside the small house. 

“Kenzou,” a woman cries as she rushed out the door with a small flaming dancing across her finger tips. 

“Himari, no! Go back inside.” The man, Kenzou, tries to wave her away. 

The woman doesn’t listen. She steps forward, rushing to the man’s side. 

But, as the light from her flame falls on Zuko, the colour slides out of her face. “No,” she whispers. “Please, leave us. Please. We’ve done nothing.”

The realization hits Zuko and leaves him reeling. His gut tightens. A warm heat rises into his cheeks. _Oh spirits._ He leaps back from the downed man with his head spinning. 

_I didn’t mean it,_ he wants to say. _I was only trying to help._

He can’t say any of that. Not now. He tries to raise his arms in surrender, but in this body the movement is awkward and wrong and every bit as threatening as he’d been before. 

From the couples perspective, he’d just attacked them, behind their house, for tending to their own animal. 

Zuko runs for a moment before lifting into the air. His heart rattles against his ribs. His gut twists and a wave of nausea pulses through him. _Nononono._ What had he done?

He collapses in a wheat field outside the city. Here, he feels a cool breeze running over his body. In the distance, crickets chirp. The crescent moon hangs low in the star spotted sky. 

He needs to calm down. To focus. He hadn’t meant what he did. He hadn’t. Zuko scrunches his eyes closed and draws his attention to the rise and fall of breath in his chest. 

Until something rustles in front of him. 

A fox sits in the field, its wide eyes locked on Zuko. 

Before Zuko makes sense of it, the fox steps forward and it’s fur and snout melt away. A young woman, no more than a few years his senior, stands in its place. Neither her long black hair nor her white robe flutter in the breeze. 

“Your majesty,” the woman says. “I am Kitsu. I was told you changed.”

If Zuko could speak, he still wouldn’t know what to say. But it doesn’t matter. He’s still reeling—he can’t change back until he calmed down. 

“I suppose you have changed, in a way,” the woman says. Her voice ripples through the air. “But not in any way that counts.”

 _I didn’t mean it._ Zuko takes a tentative step forward, but the woman raises her hand. 

“You are still the same brash, arrogant boy. You attack innocents. You abandon your duties. You use your power for your personal gain.”

 _It’s not like that._ The familiar beat of anger runs through his veins. 

The woman doesn’t seem to register his shift in attitude. Instead, she smiles coyly. “If you’re going to act like a beast, then you can stay like one.”

Before Zuko can react, a wave of white light slams into his body. He collapses backward and the weight of his chest squeezes the air from his lungs. Blind with rage and pain, he gasps for a breath. He can’t catch one. 

_No._

He pushes through the light and pain and confusion. He won’t go down this easily. Not without a fight. 

But when Zuko gathers his wits and his breath, he opens his eyes to find himself alone again. 

The night carries on and the crickets chirp and the stars shine and the breeze rustles the field as if nothing happened. 

Zuko shakes his head and limbs. He closes his eyes and focuses on shifting back. 

But, as he draws in his attention, he frowns. He can’t shift. The thought makes his head ring. He’scdone it a hundred times—it should be easy. Like slipping into a familiar coat. He just needs to concentrate. 

Except it’s not like before. His shift isn't blocked by his emotions. No—it’s like trying to open a locked door. His limbs and joints refuse to obey him. 

He’s stuck this way. And the fox woman, Kitsu, is the only one with the key. 

_Agni help him.  
  
_

* * *

After a night of panic and fear in the field, Zuko’s head clears as dawn draws near. 

The fox-woman might not be the only one who can help him. There is another, obvious choice. He can’t believe he hadn’t thought of it immediately. 

And, besides, Zuko can’t stay in the field forever. He can’t go back to the palace either. 

Zuko needs to find the Avatar.

The last he heard from Aang, he was on Kyoshi Island. That was as good of a place to start his search as any. With a deep breath, he stretches out his wings and takes to the sky. He loses himself in the warm pink glow of its rising. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few days, a few months--same thing, right? 
> 
> Anyway... sorry for the delay. I had some big doubts when it came to this story after some comments that a 'friend' made. Yeah. Anyway. Enjoy :) 
> 
> This chapter was getting long so I decided to split it up, but the next part will be out within the week. I promise!

Throughout the day, Zuko flies. He lets the air glide over his wings. He feels the rush of the breeze over his head, the rise of the currents under his belly. Air, he thinks, is a blessing. The way it moves, like liquid and not all at once, is mesmerizing. 

He thinks of Aang. He thinks of his movements, so natural and flowing. It’s no surprise this is his element. If this is what he always feels, then of course Aang is who he is. How could anyone not see the beauty in this? Not see that air is freedom? 

If Zuko wasn’t so stressed out, he might’ve seen the beauty in it all. 

But he’s still stuck. His limbs locked in dragon form. He tried earlier in the day to shift back when he’d stopped to drink. Nothing happened. Again and again, he’d concentrate on the usual shift only to meet a wall. 

If he could’ve, he would’ve run his hands along on his face. But he’s stuck like this. Had someone told Uncle? 

His guards must have noticed he’s missing by now. What would they do? Was the whole palace in disarray? The whole city? 

Zuko shakes his head. A puff of smoke curls up from his nostrils. He has to find Aang--he’s the Avatar, after all. He’ll know what to do. 

* * *

He flies throughout the day. He crosses water. It’s the ocean; he knows it like he knows his own heart. Choppy waves break below him. Overhead, gullfinches arc across the sky. Breeze washes over and under him and he turns his head toward the sun. 

If only his whole life had been like this. He wouldn’t have been so angry if he had been free. 

But he can’t dwell on that now. He keeps moving until the edge of land comes into his vision. 

Now, he’s farther than he’s ever been from home in his dragon form. Now, he’s past the point of no return. He’s doing this. He really is. The fox-woman-spirit drove him to do this. 

He has no other choice than to keep going if he wants to be himself once again. And, despite the way he hates his too-short hair and roughened skin, he does want to be himself again. One day. 

* * *

Zuko flies over mountains. He flies over wide valleys that cut deep scars in the earth. The land, from above, is vast and strange. Have things always looked this way?

From a-high, the land blends together and bends and curves. This way, he sees how it all connects. Village to village, the people are no different. Just specks below him. Dots. 

And yet all of them have lives, have families, have friends and lovers and hopes and dreams. 

Zuko pushes on.

* * *

He flies until he’s certain the muscles in his wings will give out if he tries to go any further. Somewhere near a clear lake, he touches down. Kyoshi Island isn't far. He’ll reach it by noon tomorrow. But he needs to rest now. He’s been awake since yesterday morning and moving all day long. 

Next to a mossy rock and throng of trees, he rests on the lakeshore. Underneath him, the sand is soft. He curls his hands--his claws--in front of him and rests his head. In his gut, he feels the steady and familiar roll of hunger. What would he eat like this? How would he even eat? He’s never done it before. 

Zuko tries not to think. He tries not to think of his Uncle. He tries not to think of Lu Ten. Of the stabbing pain of loss that never leaves, the pain that he learned to live with. 

At the palace, the bed in his room is empty. But he doubts the hallways are. The palace is in chaos. He’s been missing a day. As time drags on, the disarray will only worsen. Uncle and his advisors can manage in his stead, but what happens when they realize he’s gone?

Will they blame the other nations? Will a power-hungry minister vie for the throne? Would (Agni forbid) Ozai try to worm his way back into the thick of things. 

Zuko tries to put the questions out of his head. If he wasn’t exhausted, his mind wouldn’t have quieted. 

But he _is_ tired. Down to his bones, down to his core. 

He rests his head and welcomes the oblivion of sleep. 

* * *

At night, he dreams of fire. He dreams of flame and smoke and ash. He dreams of a world gone wrong. A world that can’t be put back again. 

A world razed under an ocean of fire. 

* * *

Zuko wakes to noise. Shouts and hollers come from somewhere close by. 

It’s too early, he thinks. And he’s someone who has always risen with the sun. He tries to tune it out for a moment--a habit he developed when he lived in the lower ring of Ba Sing Se with Uncle and there was always something to tune out if he wanted a decent night’s sleep. 

But Zuko realizes too late that he should be paying attention now. The fog of sleep slows his brain. He can’t afford to not be on high alert at the moment. 

“Wei,” someone calls. “You’ll never believe what I found.”

And, with that, there’s a weight on Zuko’s back and something in front of his eyes. He tries to swat it away, but it’s too late--he’s tangled in a net. In front of him, a short man with wide eyes looks rather pleased with himself. His greasy hair is pulled into a low knot and his clothes are stained with dirt. Zuko’s best guess is that this man’s been outside for several days, if not weeks. 

Another man comes up through the tree. This must be Wei, Zuko guesses. He’s taller than his companion (although that’s not a hard task) and his hair is sheered close to his head. “Huh,” he says, rubbing his hand over the sharp point of his chin. “I thought they were gone.”

“Me too,” says the first man. “But here he is. Living proof.”

Wei nods. “And worth more than what that net would catch in fish.”

With a jolt, Zuko realizes what they intend. _No._ He thrashes around wildly, trying to free his wings from the net. He needs to leave. He needs to get to Kyoshi. He’s the Fire Lord, after all. It’s a matter of national importance. 

“Woah there--calm yourself,” says the short man as he reaches out a hand to steady Zuko. 

Zuko huffs. This man is acting like Zuko’s some sort of wild beast. 

With a deep breath into the bottom of his lungs, he lets it stream back out with a lick of flame. The ropes of the net in front of him catches fire. The burn travels out along the lines. Zuko reaches up with his claw and slashes in front of him. It’s easier than it should be, but the net falls away.  
With one last buck, he untangles himself from the remnants of the net. The two men in front of him are shout now, but Zuko doesn’t pay them any mind. He just lets his feet fall across the sand in a one-two gallop before he spreads his wings and takes to the sky. As he should. As is natural. 

In the air, he hovers over the lake. The early sun glistens off the clear water. Kyoshi Island isn’t far, he needs only to point himself in the right direction and start--

A piercing pain shoots through his side. If he were still human, it would be in the rib cage, just below his armpit. 

Zuko falters and drops a few feet, too focused on the unexpected pain to keep himself going. 

“It landed,” one of the men calls. 

It’s an arrow. It must be. Zuko grimaces as well as he can and lets his wings pop out, pulling himself into a glide. He can’t fall. Not now. Not with those men. 

As he tries to breathe through the pulsing pain, he realizes that he can, in fact, breathe. The tip of the arrow hasn’t touched his lung. He can still fold at his wings and flap them with relatively little pain as long as he keeps his right arm close to his chest. And there’s no blood, either. The arrow is lodged in his scales, but it missed anything important. 

It still hurts. Agni above, does it hurt. But it won’t kill him. He can make it to Kyoshi. 

* * *

At his normal pace, Zuko would’ve reached Kyoshi Island before noon. In his injured state, he doesn’t see the land on the horizon until the sun is nearly setting. His stomach aches for food and the muscles in his back burn and the arrow in his side shifts painfully with every flap of his wings. 

When he lands, he lands without ceremony or grace. He moreso collapses into a pile of soft hay next to a barn. His feet don’t connect properly; he skids on the dirt and pieces of hay and knocks into the side of the structure. The barn shakes. A few boards blister and crack, but nothing collapses, so Zuko counts that as a win. 

He lets his head sink and huffs. The pain from the arrow shoots up through his body in fiery bolts. Darkness tinges the edges of his vision. 

Somewhere close by, someone shouts. People are starting to come to check out the commotion he undoubtedly caused. Faces start to swim into his field of vision. They’re blurry and distorted, but he can see enough to know that none of the faces are the ones he’s looking for. 

“It’s hurt,” someone in the gathering crowd calls. 

And, with that, the crowd parts as someone in the back pushes their way to the front of the crowd. 

_Katara._

She kneels down beside him and opens her water skin. 

As he starts to sink into darkness, the last thing he feels is a flush of cool relief around the sharp sting of the arrow. 

* * *

Zuko wakes to see soft lights pouring through the slats of a small window. Soft hay is underneath him. He’s in the barn, it seems. The one he crashed in to. As he turns, trying to get his bearings, he also realizes that is injury doesn’t hurt anymore. He silently thanks Katara--without her, he never could have healed. Even if he did manage to get the arrow itself out somehow, there was a good chance the wound would have festered. Zuko’s been through war. He’s seen the damage even the most minor of injuries can bring. 

But, as he turns, he realizes that Katara wasn’t the only one who’d been using her abilities. It seems that Toph’s been busy too--rough metal bars span the distance between the barn walls, effectively keeping Zuko trapped in the corner. 

He frowns. At least, he would frown if he could, but the muscles in his jaw don’t turn that way anymore. 

He supposes that he can’t blame them. After his first… visit to Kyoshi, half the town had caught fire. They’re bound to be wary. They’re still in the process of rebuilding some of the damaged structures. 

But as much as he understands it, Zuko doesn’t have to like it. He can’t even fully unfurl his wings here. He turns again to find a more comfortable position and lays down. If he really wanted, he could burst out. The wooden wall of the barn would crumple like paper. 

But that wouldn’t do much to help his peaceful appearance. 

* * *

It takes a few hours before anyone comes. Zuko’s ears perk up before they even enter--he can hear them from further away than any human would be able to. 

But the barn door does open and two people come in: Sokka and Suki, the former with a bag full of something that smells strongly of salt and fish slung over his shoulder. Suki isn’t in her full warrior regalia; she wears a simple blue robe that seems to be the island’s style. 

Zuko’s heart leaps with hope. It’s not Aang, but he might be able to make them understand that he needs help. 

He rises to his feet and cocks his head, staring at them first and then lowering his head. He has to show them he means no harm. 

“Woah,” Sokka says. He shifts behind Suki. “That’s weird.” 

“What’s weird?”

“Didn’t you see what it just did?”

“Yeah? And?”

Sokka shakes his head and shudders. “It’s weird! That’s not a natural movement.” 

Suki laughs lightly. “The legends say that dragons are intelligent creatures.” She moves closer to Zuko, places her hand on the bar, and frowns. “We should probably get Toph to let him out.”

“Let out a dragon? Are you serious?” Sokka comes forward too. He lets the bag slide off his shoulders and drops it at his feet. “Besides, how do you even know it’s a he?”

Suki shrugs. “Female intuition.”

Sokka huffs. “Thank you, Ty Lee. Next, you’re going to be telling me he’s got a ‘masculine aura’.”

“Well, he does.”

Sokka’s eyes look into Zuko’s. For a moment, Zuko thinks he’s understanding something. That there’s something unspoken that’s passing between them. That he’ll know to go get Aang to help. 

Instead, Sokka’s gaze drops lower. He turns his head upside down and, for a moment, Zuko’s unsure of what he’s doing. Until it clicks. 

Zuko drops to his belly and lets out a puff of smoke. 

Sokka sputters and steps back.

Suki doubles over with laughter.

“What? I just wanted to check.”

Suki wipes her eyes. “Leave him alone, Sokka. He’s clearly shy.”

Sokka rolls his eyes and reaches for the bag. Through a gap in the bars, he turns it over. 

Fish spill out across the floor--all dead and wide-eyed. Zuko would wrinkle his nose if he could. He wasn’t a snob when it came to food. Far from it. During his time in the Earth Kingdom, he’d eaten whatever he could find. But at least he’d been able to cook it. 

He could, hypothetically, let out a stream of fire and roast the fish. But there’s hay on the ground and wood all around him. It’s not worth the risk. And he’s starving. 

“Eat up,” Sokka tells him. “We caught that just for you.” 

He and Suki leave after that. There’s no reason for them to stick around. 

Zuko chokes down his dinner. 

He turns around and stares through the small barn window at the sky above. At the stars and clouds. 

He’s exhausted, still. He guesses he will be for some time. As he tries to sleep, his mind races. He needs to find Aang. Where is he? Zuko thought Aang would have been the first to come by. In fact, it’s strange that he hasn’t, by now. 

Zuko bolts upright. If Aang were here, he would’ve been by. He’s sure of it. 

Zuko paces around the barn as much as he can. He sticks his claw into the hay and turns it over and, sure enough, finds what he’s looking for: white fur. 

This is where Appa should’ve been. 

He hadn’t noticed the lingering scent at first--Zuko was too overwhelmed with everything else. But now that he has it, he can’t ignore it. This is were Appa slept. If Appa was here. Clearly, he isn’t. 

And neither is Aang. 

* * *

When Zuko was young, his Uncle told him stories of trickster spirits. Spirits that didn’t concern themselves with the strings of fate, but meddled in human lives instead. They weren’t interested in the grand picture; they enjoyed trouble on the smallest of levels. 

Zuko wishes he’d listened better.


	3. Chapter 3

The gang—minus Aang—come into the barn early the next morning. They all stare at Zuko with curious looks etched across their faces. As much as he wants to snap out of existence under their gaze, he can’t really blame them, he supposes. Dragons, after all, were supposed to be extinct. 

“What should we do?” asks Katara. “Our experts on the matter are kinda out.”

“What? You don’t trust me to make a decision on this?” Sokka turns to his sister. 

Katara only rolls her eyes. “Like you’re an expert on dragons.”   
“I might be! I have many talents.”

“Come on, you dunderheads,” Toph says, rocking the world and shutting up their bickering. “We sort of have a problem here—one that’s not going to go away any time soon.”

“I don’t want to rush anyone into a decision,” Suki says, “but I agree with Toph. It’s making everyone nervous here. After the last few years, the last thing we need is more trouble showing up at our door.”

With that, Zuko’s face and ears burn. He puts his chin on the ground and squeezes his eyes shut. The last thing he ever wanted was for people to think he was causing more trouble or meant any harm. He’d done enough of that for one lifetime. 

“Well we can’t exactly call Aang back, he’s a little busy at the moment.” Katara crossed her arms. 

_ Aang. _ Zuko perked up. He nodded his head—yes, Aang. Keep on that subject. Send for Aang, he’d know what to do. 

Instead, everyone, save Toph, jumps back half a foot. 

“Woaahhh there,” Sokka says, raising his hands in a way that (from Sokka’s viewpoint) is intended to be calming. 

Zuko only feels his heart spike more.  _ No. _ He backs himself into the back corner of the stall. This is a mess, he thinks. A horrible mess. He shouldn’t have been going out. He had a nation to run and instead he spent his nights sneaking away and his days dreaming about sneaking away. He wanted to help people, that much was true, but it would be a lie to say that was the only reason he did this. 

In truth, Zuko loves the way the air feels on his face. He loves the freedom of stretching his wings and soaring through the open sky, the endless sky. 

In meetings and conferences, his mind often drifted to the sky. To his freedom. For a few moments, he wanted only to be able to go where he wanted. He wanted to have no one waiting for him or telling him what to do. He wanted these stolen moments of joy so badly. And now he’d paid the price. 

But he still can’t stay this way forever. He needs to shift back. 

Katara eyes him. “There’s the nature reserve in Ba Sing Se.”

Toph shakes her head firmly. “A dragon doesn’t belong in the Earth Kingdom. This seems like a problem for the Fire Nation.”

Sokka scoffs. “Like they don’t have enough problems to deal with right now.”

_ No. _

“Whatever we do, I think we need to figure out a plan today,” Sokka continues. “I don’t want to be held up any longer than we have to be.”

The group nods in agreement, glum expressions across their faces. 

“I’m worried about Zuko,” Toph says, her voice much smaller than Zuko ever remembers hearing it. 

_ No. _ He steps forward, slowly. Of course, his friends had heard about his disappearance. Half the world must know by now—big news spreads quickly. 

“Me too.” Sokka rests a gentle hand on Toph’s arm. “But Aang’s dealing with it. He’ll find him. I’m sure of it. That kid hasn’t failed yet.”

Toph nods slowly and, suddenly, slugs Sokka’s arm. Sokka rubs the spot but says nothing. 

_ Aang. _ Zuko winces. He’s an idiot. Of course the first thing Aang would do when he got news that Zuko was missing and last seen in his chambers at the palace would be to go to the palace. While Zuko had been flying over here, he’d probably just missed Aang crossing the skies with Appa in the opposite direction. 

Zuko could smack his head in frustration. But he can’t right now and that’s a moot point anyway. 

Instead, he moves forward in a slow and careful way, lest anyone mistake it for aggression. 

He pulls his right hand out from under him and puts his claw to the dirt. As a child, he’d spent hours and hours and hours with tutors until his print was perfect. Now, his writing is sloppy and imprecise. Zuko guesses that dragons didn’t need fine control—they favoured big and powerful movements. 

Through the dirt, he drags the characters. He follows it:  _ Aang. _

He lifts his head to the group and prays to Agni that they’ll understand. 

They’re all staring at him with wide eyes.

Except for Toph. She’s frowning. “It would be great if someone could share whatever is going on! I can tell something is happening, you know.” She waves her hand in front of her face. 

“It can understand us,” Sokka whispers. “It wrote Aang’s name in the dirt.”

Still, everyone stares on, apparently too confused to speak. 

Finally, Suki clears her throat. “You’re here for the Avatar?”

Zuko nods fervently.  _ Yes, yes.  _ Finally. It’s nice to be spoken to directly and not ignored or treated as a threat. 

“I’m afraid he’s not here anymore,” Suki answers in a tone that’s much more professional than personal. “He had...other business to attend to.” 

“Maybe he—” Katara jerks her thumb in Zuko’s direction— “could come with us to the Fire Nation?”

At that, Zuko nods. It’s closer to his goals, at least. 

But Suki hesitates and turns to Katara. “But would that cause more panic? I mean…”

Katara nods in agreement. “No, no, you’re right. It might cause more chaos.” 

Zuko fumes. He’s right here! Why are they acting like he can’t hear their conversation?

But then Toph burst in too. “The chaos is here, whether we like it or not. We can’t just pretend it doesn’t exist.”

And, with that, the girls broke into a fast debate. They weren’t fighting—not quite—but they were locked in an intense conversation about the Fire Nation and dragons and Aang and peace and stability. 

Sokka stands next to them, but he doesn’t join in. Zuko might’ve realized it more consciously if he hadn’t been so distracted. Sokka was never one to sit out any sort of debate. He always wanted to be in the middle of it all. 

It only registered that he wasn’t speaking when he stepped closer. Zuko moved his head to see Sokka. 

Sokka stepped closer again until his head nearly pressed at the bars. Anyone without a death wish would probably have pulled away—bars or not, his head is only inches away from Zuko’s sharp fangs. But his blue eyes are wide with curiosity, not fear. 

“Zuko?” he says. 

And Zuko nods and nods again until his head aches.  _ Yes. It’s me. Here I am. _

* * *

In the end, they decide to write to Aang. Or, at least, Katara does. It solves two problems at once: the case of the missing Fire Lord and the mysterious dragon on Kyoshi Island. 

* * *

While they wait for Aang’s reply, Zuko roams free on the edges of the island. He doesn’t fly too close to the village—he doesn’t want to scare them. The gang decided not to tell them what was really happening. It would raise more questions than it would answer. 

And even his friends don’t know everything. Zuko tried to explain it as best as he could, but there was a limit to what he could answer with nods and shakes of his head. Writing took much too long and, when he tried, half his characters were illegible. 

But Zuko was wrong, as it turns out, about half the world knowing about his disappearance. Almost no one knew. Zuko’s staff and advisors had kept it tightly under wraps. 

Zuko could scream with relief. The last thing the world needs is more instability. 

He thinks about it as he flies around the back edge of the island. He’s never flown so freely in the sun before—the heat warms his scales and sends a burst of energy through his system like he hasn’t felt before. 

He arcs wide around the cliffs and spirals into a dive, only pulling up at the last possible moment. Ocean spray flecks his face. Breeze washes over his body. 

Like this, he feels powerful. As if he could keep going, forever and forever, until he reaches the line of the horizon. 

Like this, he doesn’t need to think. He doesn’t need to worry. He needs only to move.

* * *

The reply comes from Aang a few days later. 

“Zuko,” Katara reads to him. “Meet me at the Sun Warrior’s temple. I don’t know how you managed to get yourself into this mess, but we’ll get you back out.”

Zuko nods and is grateful that the hot blush in his cheeks won’t show. How had he not thought of that? It’s so obvious—the Sun Warriors would know. They have the last two dragons. They know everything about Firebending. In fact, Zuko has a creeping suspicion that his change was first brought on by their beliefs. He certainly was never a dragon before he learned their ways. 

* * *

“Are you okay to go alone?” Sokka asks the next day. 

Zuko nods. It’s a nice gesture, even if it is empty. Without Appa, they have no way of following him. Unless they got a steamship. 

“Take care of yourself,” instructs Katara. 

“You better get this sorted out, Sparky. I miss half of what’s going on with you this way. I better hear that raspy voice of yours the next time you’re around.”

Suki laughs at Toph’s words. “We’re serious, though. Be careful. And get this sorted out.”

Zuko nods. His heart flushes with the warmth of his friends’ care. 

He leans his weight forward and takes a run, breaking into a quick stirred. Zuko flexes his wings and, with that, he’s off.

The air is cool but the sun is warm and he feels as if he could fly on forever. 

* * *

When he reaches the Sun Warrior’s temple, Aang is already there, resting on Appa’s back. 

“Zuko!” He snaps up and comes running unnaturally fast and slams his body into Zuko, wrapping it in a hug. 

Zuko doesn’t move. He can’t exactly return the gesture. 

“We were so worried,” Aang says as he pulls back. “All of us. You really sent the palace through a loop, you know. And not to mention your uncle…”

Zuko’s stomach drops with the mention of Uncle. He must’ve been informed. Zuko really doesn’t want to picture how that went. Uncle’s lost so much already and Zuko’s caused him so much pain. 

“He invited you for tea, by the way. I mean after this is all sorted out.” Aang chuckles. 

Zuko swallows and follows him. He’s much too cheerful for all of this. Each step he takes he bounces. 

At the gates, Aang turns to Zuko. He’s taller, Zuko realizes, than the last time they saw each other. By an inch or two at least. It’s hard to judge when Zuko doesn’t have his own height for reference. 

“Are you ready?” 

Zuko can only nod.

* * *

The Sun Warriors are helpful, if not a bit nosy. A few of them prod Zuko with their staffs (or worse, their fingers).  _ I’m the Fire Lord, _ he wants to snap. But he can’t. He can’t even let out a threatening coil of smoke. He needs their help, so he has to put up with their overwhelming curiosity. 

“They don’t mean anything by it,” Aang whispers in his ear at one point. “They’re just interested. After all, this is the first time in a hundred years they’ve seen another dragon.”

_ And whose fault is that? _ Zuko shakes his head. He unfurls his wings and lets them all stare on in awe. 

* * *

In the end, their leader tells them they need to do the dancing dragon. Half of Zuko is overflowing with joy that the solution is that simple. Half of him is furious. He’s been stuck this way for over a week now. He wants nothing more than a warm bath and real, human food. He’s crisscrossed the globe and all along he could’ve just done a dance? 

Aang only laughs. “I told you we’d figure it out, Zuko. Come on, let’s try it.”

* * *

Zuko can’t get it right. It’s all wrong with his body this way. He can’t cross his feet like he normally would, or turn his arms the right way, or spin when he’s supposed to without getting his tail—and part of him still shudders when he thinks of the tail being his—caught under his feet. He’s been with Aang up on the high part of the temple all afternoon and he still can’t get it right. 

Aang, ever the monk, hasn’t run out of patience. “That was a lot closer, Zuko! I’m sure you’ll get it next time.” 

Zuko tries, once more, but catches his claws in the stone on the first move. It’s too late to catch himself. He’s already turning his feet. 

He lands in a heap with a crashing thud. Dust stirs up underneath him. It doesn’t hurt like this—if he was still human, he’d be bruised and bashed and aching. But it’s no less frustrating. 

“Err, or we could take a break? Come back later after some food and water?” 

The only thing more unappealing than having to do this dance is having to choke down another dinner of whatever everyone guesses a dragon will eat. Zuko shakes his head. He’ll get this. 

He gestures for Aang to try again with him. 

“Alright,” Aang floats down from the perch he was sitting on. “But it’s okay if this takes some time. It might not be easy.”

Zuko twists and leans into the movement. He turns off his overactive brain. He doesn’t think. He moves. The memory is there, somewhere deep in his muscles. 

A kick. A spin. A deep twist, leaning into the muscles of his core.

And, finally, he leans over toward Aang, his muscles in knots and his claws in as much of a ball as he can make. 

It’s not perfect. Far from it. 

But it is enough. 

The same force he felt settle his bones in place snaps away. The tension peels out of his joints and muscles and sinew. It’s like shedding a heavy cloak after a long journey. 

Zuko lets the transformation fall away. His limbs shorten. His wings pull into the muscles of his back. The blue scales disappear into soft and pale flesh. He feels the bones in his jaw shorten and the angle of his palate change—he can speak again. 

“Zuko!” 

Zuko blinks. He’s sitting on the ground. And, with a flush of embarrassment, Zuko realizes he’s naked, too. “Oh,” he croaks, his throat rusty with disuse. Before he can even put his hands down to cover himself, Aang tosses him a piece from his robe. Zuko ties it like a towel around his waist.

“Thank you.” 

Aang is unabashed. “No problem.” He pulls Zuko into another hug. He’s still a bit shorter than him, but the difference isn’t anything like it once was. It won’t be long before Aang is the same height as him, if not taller. 

Zuko stands, his legs wobbly. He hadn’t expected to feel odd in his body but here he is. He’d almost been used to his dragon form. 

“So…” Aang gives him a beaming smile. “What happened?”

Zuko brushes his neck. “A woman. Wait—not like that.” He cringes. “A spirit? She was a fox, then she was a woman. Said her name was Kitsu.”

Aang frowns. “A trickster spirit.” 

“I guess.”

“What did you do to get on her bad side?”

“Nothing! I swear!” But that’s not true, exactly. “Well, nothing bad. She might’ve misunderstood.”

“Zuko.”

“She might’ve thought I was harassing innocent farmers. But I wasn’t! Really! I promise.”

Aang lets his hand rest lightly on Zuko’s arm. “It’s okay, Zuko. I believe you.”

Zuko lets out a sigh and deflates slightly. “Thanks, Aang.”

Aang taps his finger against his chin. “It’s strange, though.”

“What is?”

“Well, why a dragon? She could’ve turned you into anything, so why pick something so...cool?”

“Oh.” Zuko flushes. He knows that it shows this time. “Um. She didn’t turn me into a dragon. She just made me stay as one.”

Aang’s eyes go wide and round. 

Zuko might have some explaining to do. But even he doesn’t know how he can do what he does. But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t appreciate his gift. It’s quite the opposite. 

  
  


* * *

That night, after dinner (a real dinner of solid and cooked food) Aang comes to find Zuko, who is resting by a campfire. 

“You could’ve told us, you know,” Aang says. “We’re your friends.”

“I know. It’s just… it’s strange.”

“We’ve seen stranger.”

Zuko chuckles dryly. “That’s true.” He sighs and leans back, staring above the smoke from the fire into the starry sky. 

“Do you ever feel trapped?”

Aang pauses for a moment. “How so?”

“By duty. By responsibility. Like you try so hard to push and move but everywhere you go, you just hit a wall.”

“Sometimes,” Aang admits. “It’s hard to be the Avatar. Everyone is watching everything I do. If I even make the slightest mistake, no one will let me forget it.”

“Exactly.” Zuko breathes out deeply. “I just wanted to not be the Fire Lord for a little bit. Maybe I didn’t even want to be Zuko. I just wanted to be free, you know? To have no one watching me for once.”

“It’s hard to have the weight of a nation on your shoulder.”

“Yeah.” 

For a moment they sit in silence, watching the stars twinkle overhead. 

“Zuko?” 

“Yeah?”

“You know you can talk to me, right? About anything.”

“I know. The same goes for you.” 

Aang nods. “You can be both, you know. You can be the Fire Lord. And you can be just Zuko. You don’t have to exist separately.” 

Zuko’s throat feels dry. He blames it on the campfire smoke. “I know.” 

* * *

He gets back to the palace on Appa the next day. There’s little public fanfare, but privately the palace is in disarray. 

“Your Majesty,” says Tengo, Zuko’s assistant. “You gave us all quite the scare.”

“I apologize,” Zuko says. 

And, before he can even take a breath and adjust himself to being back in his room, there’s a pile of papers being shoved in his hands. 

“Some of the reports you missed, Your Majesty. And your ministers have requested a meeting immediately following lunch.” 

Zuko nods curtly. “Of course.”

Internally, he sighs. 

* * *

It goes on like that for another few weeks. Uncle visits and some of the pressure eases, but it comes right back. 

Zuko tries not to go out at night. He can never solve every problem in the Fire Nation that way. Instead, he pours his energy into policy and reform and budgets and meetings. 

By the time the end of the month rolls around, Zuko’s burnt out. He’s a candle whose wick is black and curled in and drowning in a pool of wax. 

But Zuko refuses to let himself be consumed by it. He goes to his desk and pulls out a scroll of paper. 

_ Dear Aang,  _ he writes,  _ and Sokka, Katara, Toph, and Suki.  _

* * *

Sometimes, at night, Zuko still goes out. He lets the weight of his day fall away and dons the familiar and cool form. 

He stretches his wings out in the moonlight. He skims across the water and dives down the side of the volcano and spins over the tops of houses. 

Like this, he is free. 

And every time he pushes his wings up toward the glittering stars, he looks down at the nation below him. Small lights from fires cut through the night. The moon is bright enough to show the thatched rooftops and farmers’ fields and docks. 

Sometimes, there are lanterns. Balls of glowing and coloured light that make the villages glow. Caldera City radiates the warm glow. 

* * *

At night, Zuko tells Izumi stories from the world beyond their own. The realm of the spirits, the place where the living dare not go. He pulls her blanket up to her chin and runs a hand over her hair. 

"Strangeness reigns in the Spirit World," he tells her. "Tilted colours paint the landscape and time twists until it has no meaning."

Izumi's golden eyes widen. "Tell me more."

Zuko chuckles. "It's past your bedtime already. And Grandpa Iroh is a better storyteller than me. You can ask him tomorrow."

Izumi grumbles in disappointment. Zuko plants a kiss on her cheek. "I'll tell you this much: the spirits have a way of cursing us through gifts and gifting us through curses."

Her brow furrows and her small mouth turns down in a frown. "But how do you know which is which?"

"I'm not sure if you always will."

* * *

Once Izumi is asleep, Zuko takes to the sky. He's slower than he once was. He can't cross the land as quickly, but he has more power in his muscles. At least he likes to think so.

From high above the nation, Zuko can take it all in. It blurs together in a warm glow. And, Zuko knows, the nation he flies over is a little better, a little warmer, a little more kind, than the one he crossed over the night before.


End file.
